


Always, a Story in Five Kisses

by Rivestra



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Devotion, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mixed Signals, Scarification, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivestra/pseuds/Rivestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A republic was born in that crucible of blood, and the sound of its rushing has never left Bass’ ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always, a Story in Five Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eurydice72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, eurydice72. I promise it's not fluff (so much so), and I apologize that it's not longer. It's a miracle I got a whole story out at all, really--I almost had to default. December was not kind to us 'round here, but I think letting some of my own grief slip into Bass's was probably cathartic.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas for the last minute job, and to the administrators of this wonderful challenge! Yuletide is pretty consistently one of the best things about the season for me.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Extremely dubious consent and fucked-up signal giving; grief. When I started this, I honestly thought Monroe was the more fucked-up of the pair. Ha!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Written purely for fun; no profit or harm intended. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.

They'd sworn, so many times over, and it stuck, it really did.

Except it didn’t. 

Except it couldn’t, because nothing does.

Promises drift through the air, buoyed by intention, but they all fall to Earth eventually, listless and broken, lifeless as the mouths that vowed them.

######

The first time he’d kissed Miles, he’d had a fresh ‘M’ carved high on his leg, and his blood was singing with the sting and burn. His hand hadn’t trembled at all as he’d sliced the blade through Miles’ thigh in the final matching line, even though sweat made his grip on the handle tricky. His heart pounded loud in his ears, even though the splashing kids at pool behind them seemed muffled by the very air around them, thick with honeysuckle and wet enough to wring out.

Miles had collapsed against him, his breath escaping in a loud hiss, and all the tension bleeding out of his muscles. 

Bass had settled Miles’s weight gratefully against his chest, dropping the blade and pressing his palm over the mark to stop the bleeding. A hiss had told him the sweat stung--something he already knew from Miles’ palm against his own thigh--but he’d still tried to jerk his hand away.

“No,” Miles had said, not letting Bass move. “It’s fine. It’s good...” and Bass had gone with it, had let Miles pin him there, chest to chest.

Nose practically buried in Miles’ neck, Bass had sucked in a deep breath. He’d planned to say something-- _anything--_ but had found himself swimming in Miles instead. The sunscreen and Deep Woods Off from his skin and the peppered beef jerky on his breath faded quickly, but Miles’ salty-clean sweat crowded close in Bass’ nose and the chlorine kick of his skin hit the back of Bass’ throat. 

A twitch--he’d never know whose--and Miles’ damp hair was cool silk across his cheek, a rasp of new stubble burning in its wake.

A sharp hiss, and Bass had realized he was leaning hard against the cuts in Miles’ thigh. He’d tried to pull away, but Miles had covered his hand with his own and pressed down harder, grinning and swallowing thickly and Bass.... Bass had leaned in that last inch and kissed him, as certain of that moment as he’d ever been of anything.

Miles’ mouth had opened beneath his, and, for a long moment, Bass had floated in the perfection of it--in the hot, wet, slick, _Miles-y-ness_ of it--soaring free, tethered to the Earth only by Miles’ hands on him. He’d felt Miles shift and rose to chase the heat of Miles’ hands with his whole body, drunk on sensation and blind to everything until pain crashed into his skull and he landed on his ass.

When he’d looked up, Miles was standing over him, shaking out his fist and trembling, eyes wild. Scared.

Bass had swiveled his head about frantically looking for the trouble--a teacher? That Mosley kid?--but had seen nothing that made any sense. Miles’ face was tight, his kiss-slick lips drawn and tense. 

“Miles, what...” Bass had started, hauling himself up, but he hadn’t finished. He’d watched Miles take an abrupt step back and understood.

He hadn’t even begun to think in words before Miles was gone.

Miles had always been leaving.

Thankfully, he never seemed to get very far.

######

Emma had been young and sweet, and she’d held her alcohol much better than Miles had.

She’d sputtered at first when he’d flirted, surprise bringing color to her cheeks and making her eyes dance. She’d laughed at his lame jokes and giggled when he’d dared to touch her breast. Her lips had been lush and soft, and he’d latched on to them, open-mouthed and hungry, unable to get enough.

Underneath her cherry Chapstick, she’d still tasted like Miles.

######

The day of the funeral, he’d been past numb. Miles had stuck to his side through it all, guiding him through the landmines he never even saw, never more than a hand’s breadth away.

After it was over, after almost everyone he’d ever loved was in the ground, Miles had found him again. They’d sat. Miles had taken his gun, and they’d sat, side by side on that hill for hours as time crept through the grass and up the trees. Bass hadn't been able to feel the hungry earth beneath him, hadn't even felt the long line of Miles’ shoulder and thigh along his own, hadn’t even been able to be grateful for it. Looking back though, he was sure it was all that had held him to the world.

When Bass had started to shiver, Miles had declared, “Enough,” and hauled him to his feet. Somehow, he’d stumbled to the car. Miles revved the engine to speed the heat and held Bass’ hands to the vents. Bass had watched his hands go from white to pink, but he hadn’t felt the warmth. 

Eventually, Miles had let his hands go and started driving. A few minutes later, they’d pulled into a Motel 6, and Miles had hauled him out of the car and guided him inside. 

Bass had watched motionless while Miles turned down the bed. He’d been compliant when Miles pushed him to sit and had lifted his feet to let Miles remove his shoes. Miles had pushed Bass down into the bed and followed him in, pressing them as close as two people could get, holding on like Bass was going to try and get away. 

Bass had stared at the popcorn ceiling through the low light and felt Miles’ chest rising and falling against his back. At some point, he’d closed his eyes, tired of the street light creeping in through the flimsy blinds.

Sometime after that, sometime in the deepest, quietest part of the night, Bass had felt Miles’ lips on his. They’d been salty, and had just made the softest brush, but they’d been the only point of heat in his entire world. Bass had _felt_ them. He’d rolled to bury his face in Miles’ chest and had broken into a million jagged shards.

They’d stayed in that hotel for a week and Bass started to think of it as home. 

Home would never mean anything but Miles again.

######

Bass didn’t manage to get stupid-brave enough to touch Miles again until Ben’s wedding.

Miles had been drunk--not a little drunk, shit-faced moron drunk--but he’d gone silent, so Bass hadn’t realized it right away. He hadn’t realized it in time.

He’d only meant to see what was wrong, why Miles was so quiet.

Gently, he’d guided Miles away from the crowd and into the corridors abandoned by the caterers. Miles had been pliant. _Broken_ , Bass remembered thinking. He’d put his arm around his friend as comfort, and comfort it had stayed for a long moment... until Miles had turned toward Bass, full into his chest and deep into his space, breath hot against his cheek, eyes wet and wide. 

Aching, Bass had fallen into those eyes. He’d closed the distance between their lips, more than half expecting pain to bloom again along his jaw.

He hadn’t been expecting to be slammed against the wall.

He hadn’t been expecting Miles’ tongue down his throat or the hard pressure of Miles’ hand on him through his trousers. 

He’d held on as Miles tried to remove all the distance between them, his chest burning as Miles robbed him of even the space for breath, his body on fire. He’d come before he’d realized Miles was crying.

Miles had been gone before he could pick himself up off the floor, so he hadn't bothered. He’d chosen instead to sit in the dim and drift on the music that came trickling down the hall. 

Footfalls from the kitchen had intruded on his reverie, and the crashing of pans hitting the tile had made him jump. Over-loud drunken whispers and scuffling carried indistinctly over the faint music. Fabric tore loudly accompanied by a muffled giggle.

After a few minutes, prurient curiosity started to poke through his numbness, and he’d hauled himself up to peek through the caterers' pass-through. 

It had taken him a long moment to decipher what he was seeing. He hadn’t really understood the wave of white taffeta that shimmered with beadwork in the low light. The small hands gripping the edge of the butcher block counter had made no sense at all, and the wash of blonde hair across the wooden surface had clarified nothing. The quiet moans and low rhythmic thumping had confused his ears. The shadows stirring behind all that white had refused to coalesce into coherency.

Bass had abandoned stealth and was staring openly when Miles spilled out of the shadows onto the form in the white dress. He must have heard Bass’ gasp because he looked up and caught Bass’ eyes. He’d continued to thrust, one hand in all that blond hair, the other keeping the tidal wave of dress-- _wedding_ _dress_ , Bass noted dimly--from engulfing him completely, and had utterly refused to release Bass’ eyes. Not that Bass had wanted to look down and see Rachel, and Bass couldn’t have looked away to save his life. 

Maybe not even to save Miles’.

Abruptly, Miles had shuddered. A spasm jerked across his face, and he stopped moving. It was over, but still he’d held Bass’ eyes. Bass’ breath caught in his throat, unable to flow in or out until Miles moved, until Miles gave it permission.

After an eternity, Miles nodded--a short, sharp jerk--and collapsed down onto his brother’s oblivious bride.

Lungs burning, it had been Bass who'd ran that time.

######

Blood.

Blood on his hands and under his nails. Down his shirt and soaking his waistband.

Bass hadn't wanted men, he’d wanted Miles. He’d stayed with girls because they were safe. Girls were _supposed_ to be safe.

Well, _safe_ was splayed in a tent, ripped apart by another girl, one who he’d actually been prepared to love. _Safe_ had flooded the earth with her blood, flooded _him_ with it. Drowned his newborn daughter in it.

Safe was over.

He’d left the tent and proceeded to wash his hands in the blood of men, in the blood of Miles’ enemies. It soaked him deeper than hers ever could have, and it washed him clean. 

He’d returned to camp battered and triumphant, Miles’ man through and through. He’d returned to camp high on it all, his own blood a rush in his ears, desperate to see Miles’ face. He’d returned to camp and been greeted by... pity. 

Pity and, maybe, just a hint of fear.

The rush in Bass’ ears had turned to thunder. Fear? Miles was afraid of _him?_ Because of what he’d done _for_ him? Those men had hardly been innocents--no one was innocent anymore, not in this brave new hellhole they called a world. Not in this parody of a life. 

Loyalty was the only value worth having, the only truth that mattered, and no one-- _no one_ \--but Miles deserved his.

Miles deserved the entire fucking world, and Bass needed to give it to him... whether Miles realized he wanted it or not.

Without even realizing he was moving, Bass had backed Miles down an alley between tents and into a stone wall. His hands had come up of their own volition and cupped Miles’ face, smearing Miles' cheeks with blood--hers, their enemy’s, his own--it didn't matter. 

It was all lifeblood, and it all belonged to Miles, both by right and by design.

Miles hadn’t looked scared anymore, and that was good. He’d actually started to look pissed off, and that was even better. Bass had grinned at him and crushed their lips together. Their teeth met hard and clacked loudly. He'd leaned into Miles with his every ounce, pinning them both against the rough stone. 

After a moment, Miles had seemed to relax into the kiss, and that flared Bass’ anger again. He’d pushed Miles’ jaw open with his thumb and thrust his tongue into Miles’ mouth. When Bass had needed to stop for a breath, Miles had turned his head toward the camp and whispered, raw and low, “Bass...”.

 _Fuck discretion,_ Bass had thought and plunged his hand into Miles’ pants. Miles had bucked at the contact, struggling to get his hands up to Bass, but Bass had a better angle and hadn’t been looking for any help. He’d jacked Miles roughly, no patience left in him for anything, and it hadn’t been long before Miles was coming into his hand with low groans that sounded like sobs. 

Bass had lowered Miles to the ground gently when his knees gave out. He’d followed him down, the fever burned out of him with Miles’ orgasm. He’d kissed Miles’ eyes gently and found them wet. Miles had reached out and touched the tear tracks on Bass’s own face, and Bass had blinked back more before they could escape. He’d never even gotten hard.

“We’re gonna need a better plan,” he’d whispered into Miles’ neck, and he’d felt Miles nod back into him. 

That time, Miles had stayed.

For a while, at least.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Eurydice72 and I matched on _This Means War_ and _Revolution,_ and when I read her letter, I discovered she'd also asked for _Continuum,_ a show I love but had never considered writing. It took a while to settle all the bunnies in my head but, in the end, I went for the one that was most f'd up and disturbing, of course (because my brain _hates_ me and wanted me to live with Bass and his pain in my head for several months).
> 
> _**Eurydice72 's request:** As a reader, I'm pretty open-minded about a lot of things. Even when I have a primary ship on a show, I tend to multi-ship and even do a lot of rarepairs. That tends to happen because I usually fall in love with fandoms because of ensembles and ideas rather than a single character. That’s a usually, though. There are occasional exceptions. I read all ratings and most genres, though I’ll admit, fluff tends to be a hard sell for me. I love plot, the plottier the better, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with sex, either, so no worries you can’t go in that direction if you want. Het, slash, gen…it’s all good. What draws me most into stories is strong characterization, original ideas, and solid writing. I don’t like to read the same old/same old, which is one reason why plot is always such a strong draw._
> 
> _I have a real soft spot for outsiders/lonely characters. They get to me almost every single time. Going dark is not a problem at all, whether it’s sexually, via violence, or angst. That’s not to say I go looking for it, but it does work for me a lot of the time. I love a great action scene, banter, and breathless kisses._
> 
> _Revolution: I have a soft spot for dystopian futures, so even though I know the science in this is spotty at best, I fell in love with the reluctant ensemble and tarnished heroes of this show from the start. Miles and Monroe especially make my heart twist, with their broken friendship, Monroe’s rising paranoia, and the love that just won’t go away. While I don’t really care for the young love angle, Charlie as a heroine intrigues me, especially as she’s such an interesting counterpoint to Rachel. In fact, outside of the Charlie/Jason stuff, there probably isn't an aspect that doesn't interest me, like the relationship between Jason and Tom as they struggle through their issues, or poor Aaron coming to grips with his latent insecurities._
> 
> And for the record, Miles and Monroe make my heart twist, too.


End file.
